Nuance
by howlingmoonrise
Summary: Drabble/oneshot collection of fills for prompts sent on tumblr. Mostly SoMa.
1. Please come get me

Drabble prompt asked by therewithasmile on tumblr.

Enjoy!

* * *

His phone vibrates in his pocket for a second or two, and his hand immediately jumps towards it.

He's been feeling antsy about the meister-only mission Maka has gone on and can't help but worry about it for the totality of the five hours they'd been apart. Call him mother hen, overprotective, worry wart, but he had a right to want his meister to be safe, damnit!

So when the small screen lits up and her message is opened, he can't help but feel his stomach twist into tiny knots. He knows his meister well, well enough that she is rarely this curt in the messages she sends - she's big on all the cute emojis and smilies for some reason, and her bookworm tendencies apparently make her messages end up being extremely long-winded. So the tiny, helpless _please come get me_ just somehow doesn't sit right in the part of his soul that has been taken over by her.

Soul likes to compare his meister to a drug. She is something he can never get enough of, violent tendencies and hot temper included, and he finds himself drifting over to her more and more as the time goes by.

He knows only all too well what it means. It's with a heavy heart that he stamps down on those little fluttering butterflies on his stomach and puts his feelings away for _just a little longer_, in the vain hope that someday they'll go away and he won't have to be in deep, desperate love with his meister.

She is the most important thing on his life right now, and the thought of her alone and insecure and afraid, blood seeping into the ground, it's enough for him to make his way outside and then on his bike to the site her mission was on in half the time if would usually take him. A two-hour trip made in less than one, and yet all that keeps repeating on his mind is _too slow, too slow, too slow_.

And then he sees her. He doesn't recognize her at first, a tiny, curled up shaking mess, the complete opposite of the bold scythe-wielder that she is most of the time, and his heart tears up at the sight like a wet, crumpled up piece of paper. Her body is rocking back in forth in the same place, gloved hands tightly clenched around the old, beaten up phone, lighted up screen reflecting on her blank eyes.

"Maka?" he asks softly, lowly, afraid that anything louder will scare her away like a frightened animal.

Her eyes immediately snap up to meet his.

"Soul," she croaks out, like she hadn't expected him to be there.

He repeats her name, again and again as he makes his way towards the most precious thing in existence to him, all too fragile against his arms when he curls them around her. There is a sob against his shoulder, though her eyes remain dry.

Her voice is accusing when she speaks again. "You were gone."

Soul says nothing, hands running through her ash blonde hair, petting the stray strands back into place. The dirt in the ground floats up into the air as a breeze passes by, gently disturbing their clothing as it carasses the pair.

"I never left," he whispers to her reassuringly.

"You did." Another chocked sob. "You were gone, far away, dead, and left me behind."

He wonders if her enemy was the kind that messed with people's minds. Wonders if it's a constant fear of hers, like it is to him, to be left behind in a world without the other piece of their soul. It's a pounding, binding fear that leaves his mouth tasting like the dirt in the wind and the ashes of a fire, haunts his dreams and that never leaves him for more than just a few moments.

"Even if I'm gone," he says, words tasting like the purest of truths. "I'll always come back if you ask."

"Like I did when I texted you?" she asks, and though Soul is pretty sure that the insanity is still clouding her mind, he knows that this is the kind of question he has to answer truthfully.

"Always," he says, and he means it.


	2. Shit, are you bleeding?

Prompt asked by notanirishginger on tumblr.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Shit, are you bleeding? Oh Death, you're bleeding. Shit, shit, _shit._"

"I's nothing to worry about," she says, though they both know that isn't exactly true. It's not a terrible wound, certainly not life-threatening, but it's still going to need medical assistance and will very likely leave a nasty scar.

"But you're _bleeding._"

Soul is panicking, and they both know it. She wonders how a weapon that has brought down so many corrupted souls still freaks out at the sight of the red liquid running down her arm, but then stops. And then remembers how readily he throws himself on front of her, willing to lay down his life for her; how it had been his blood spilling to the dirty, dark ground instead of hers as he took the blows that he weren't his to receive.

It makes her mad half the time; the other half is filled with all the feelings of regret and inedequacy she tries to shove within herself to the best of her ability. She knows, she _knows _that weapons are trained to protect their meisters, but none of them are Soul - loyal, dedicated Soul, who wouldn't think twice about sacrificing himself if it would save her. None of them are as willing to offer their lifes in exchange for the other's, yet he would - and has - jumped without hesitation in front of a sword in order to spare her life. The scar that cuts through his chest is proof of it.

Maka doesn't know how she can live with herself on those times. She keeps seeing it, his blood tainting the floor, their clothes, their skin; it haunts her nightmares, grips at her soul.

The thought that she may one day lose her best friend, partner, soulmate - it's a kind of fear she has never felt before. And as Soul kneels beside her and helps staunch the blood from the open wound, white hair soft agaist her skin, she understands why he'd give everything up for her. She'd do the same.

Maka doesn't want to lose her partner, either.


	3. You're adorable

Prompt asked by cdeblias on tumblr: 'Soul to Maka "You're adorable"'. Thank you!

Also, I take the chance to add that though I take a long time to update on here and AO3, there are plenty of finished prompts on my tumblr which I haven't gotten around to publishing on here yet. This one is quite shorter than the rest, hurr durr.

Enjoy!

* * *

They're doing the same things they always do after particularly strenuous missions - lazing around the house, watching a movie and eating far too greasy, far too unhealthy take-away food - just plainly enjoying their time together in a not fighting-for-their-lives kind of way.

Soul knows meisters and weapons that only fill the minimum quota for time spent together, missions included, but he doesn't think he could ever do that. Maka is the one constant thing in his messed up life; he's gotten far too used to waking up in the morning by the smell of breakfast she cooked for the two of them (because she knows all too well that he doesn't function in the mornings and would probably burn the apartment down if he tried to do it), to her gloved hands holding on to him tightly, to her angelic voice calling him back from the depths of his madness-infested soul.

She shuffles back to the living room, having switched from the bloody clothes she had used for the battle, bunny-patterned shorts and tank top now covering her instead. He contains a snort, because her pyjamas coupled with the pigtails she constanly wears make her seem like an overgrown five year old. Only, with really, _really_ nice legs he'd like to have wrapped around either his waist or his head.

Okay, scratch the five year old part, that would just be plain gross.

Either way, she looks absolutely adorable, even if there is a tired scowl on her face, and his mouth is open and the words are flying out of it before he can understand what's going on or put a stop to it.

She blinks.

She blinks again.

Time stretches on for what seems to be hours, and Soul's face is getting redder by the second. He doesn't think he has ever blushed this hard, _ever_, because blushing isn't a thing cool guys do, and there are embarrassed coils in his stomach that make him dread both her reaction and the repercussions of it.

Maka seems to finally digest his words, because there is a pink hue rising to her face and the scowl is completely gone, and he fights the urge to utter the words again. She walks over to the couch, plops down on the place next to him, all while saying nothing.

Yet he can feel her pleasure over their link, always thrumming in the background of his soul. Maka smiles against the skin of his shoulder as she breathes out a 'thank you', and his soul soars at her words.

If they snuggle closer than usual after the exchange and all the nights after that, they don't comment on it. But Soul makes a note to himself to compliment her more often.


	4. Look at me

Prompt suggested by lucidrush on tumblr: "Look at me - Just breathe, okay?"

Set during chapter 84 of the manga.

Enjoy!

* * *

_"Look at me."_

Her voice comes to him in the middle of the darkness, a siren's call between the rolling waves of insanity that drag him under.

"_Soul, look at me!_"

He can't, can't she understand that? The black coats his vision, shuts down his senses, makes it impossible for his limbs to move.

"_You need to stop this! Soul!"_

The wounds on his chest ache, ache_ so badly, _and he wants to shove his hand into the scar on his chest and rip it apart.

"_What's happening to you?!_"

It's aching, it's _aching_, he wants to let it out. He feels the madness roll out in waves, inundating his surroundings even more. He has a feeling there is something happening outside the liquid walls that hold him in, a battle of sorts which his body isn't making an effort to win yet still overpowers his oponents. _It's the power of a Death Scythe_, he finds himself thinking, and senses more than feels his lips moving to form the words in a distant manner, like his corporeal is actually a puppet and the strings that connect it to his mind have been cut off.

The contours of the Black Room define themselves around him, red velvet curtains and old gramophone playing scratchy music. The light is dimmer than usual, so it takes a few moments longer to register the presence of the now gigantic Oni.

"Your blood went wild," it says, sadistic grin too big for its face. "You are going out of control. Isn't it the _best_ feeling?"

Soul's non-corporeal lips shift into a snarl. "Don't fuck with me. I'm not like this."

He knows that something dangerous is going on, and thought the control of his physical body is out of reach, he can hear the sounds of battle through some kind of barrier. He wonders how the little devil that inhabited the corners of his mind became so big, and just how long he has been this way.

Then madness waves are clouding the air once again, and he has a feeling they're coming from himself.

"Shit," he curses, because suddenly he remembers exactly what was going on before the insanity got a hold of him, and who had been there with him. There is a mad grin drawn on his lips on the outside world, he's sure, because the demon in front of him has the exact same one on his expression.

The Oni faces him down, noses nearly touching as it looms over him, and tells him all the things he already knows about himself; he knows he is running away and insists on hiding, he knows he'll never be good enough, he _knows _that his life up until now, regardless of how good it had become since he met his meister, has been as mean of escape from his stifling past.

"You can't stop the Black Blood with that shitty attitude," the Oni says, teeth all out and showing, and though Soul is used to them it still sends a shiver down his spine. "Don't try to supress the madness. Seize it!"

"_Soul!_" his meister's voice calls from the abyss of his soul, and he knows it's time to follow it to reality.

"What are you?" he hears the demon ask one last time, but he is already resurfacing, following the beam of light that is Maka.

_I'm Soul Eater, the demon scythe._

His eyes register the light just as Maka's relieved shout reaches his ears. He wonders if it's a trick of the light, but for some reason both Maka and Kim seem to be clinging on to Professor Stein, but even that thought doesn't last long as his meister rushes to meet him—

—And promptly Maka Chops him. Hard.

"_What the hell, Maka?!_"

"Don't act all cool, stupid," she huffs, but there is a glimmer of tears at the corner of her eyes. "Don't ever go all insane on us again, you hear me?"

He pulls her into him, listening to her quick breaths that tell him she's holding back her tears. "Hey, look at me. Listen to me."

Her head is against his chest, tell-tale drops of wetness falling on his shirt - thick as it is in the cold weather, he can still feel them. Maka doesn't raise her head to look at him, but he can tell he has her attention.

Soul shushes her softly, nearly soundlessly, only loud enough for her to hear. "Just breathe, okay? I'm fine. We're fine," he says, because it's a truth that tastes so sweet in his mouth. "Won't go all nuts on you again. It's a promise."

And it's a promise he will keep, he's certain of that.

The warmth of her in his arms feels like home.


End file.
